


(hurt) thy neighbor

by autumnchills



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breaking and Entering, Buck Centric, Concussions, Duct Tape, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Guns, Happy Ending, Home Invasion, Hospitalization, Hostage Situations, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injured Evan "Buck" Buckley, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Restraints, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnchills/pseuds/autumnchills
Summary: “He’s armed,” is all he says into the phone before standing from his spot. He shoves his phone into his pocket and steps out, hands raised. Sure enough, the man has a gun pointed at him, but if he looks closely enough… Buck squints. Color him surprised.“Is that you—”“Don’t!” The man yells, jerking his hand with the gun aggressively. “Don’t you dare fucking say my name, Buckley.”— In which things get bad fast when Buck's neighbor breaks into his apartment thinking that he isn't home.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Athena Grant, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 1240





	(hurt) thy neighbor

When Buck gave spare keys to his friends, he handed them off with a single rule: Never enter his home without giving him a heads up. 

Of course, the notice didn’t always help. Multiple times, Maddie or Eddie had sent a message, but he’d missed it due to something like sleeping or being in the shower.

Nonetheless, they respect the rule. 

So, when a large crash sounds through his apartment and wakes him from his sleep, he first thinks it’s lightning. The rain has been on and off for the last few days, as it usually was during the start of December. Though there hadn’t been any lightning or thunder, he wasn’t surprised by the development. 

Only, when Buck lays his head back down on the pillow, he hears a distinct sound over the light raindrops hitting his windows. 

Buck’s eyes shoot wide open and he raises his head ever so slightly, straining his ears to listen over the sound of his rapidly beating heart. 

Sure enough, there’s the telltale sound of feet shuffling across the floor downstairs. Buck immediately snatches his phone from the nightstand and shuffles to the end of his bed furthest from the loft’s railing. He unlocks his phone and desperately hopes to find a text or missed call from someone with a key, but his most recent calls and messages are from hours ago. 

Buck slowly slides off his bed and is mindful of his furniture as he angles to look over the edge of his loft. In the dark, he can’t see much, but he eyes a stack of things on the kitchen table. 

Buck’s body jolts out of shock alone when a figure comes into view, walking toward the table from his couches. 

Buck is pretty sure they’re holding his Xbox, but he doesn’t get a good look before he ducks down and debates how to proceed. 

His first instinct had been to yell and tell whoever the fuck was in his apartment to get the hell out, but he knows that the person could be armed. The most logical solution is to call 9-1-1, but the downside of living in his modern yet affordable loft is that it’s really small, meaning the intruder could hear him.

Unless he were to move to the bathroom. 

If he can get in there, he can lock the door and call without a problem. The sound of rain would cover the sound of his whispers if the distance alone wouldn’t.

Buck ducks his head down and starts moving, careful not to make too much noise. His eyes flicker between the dark ground and the person as he moves, trying to see if they have a weapon or not. Countless years as a teen spent home alone for the evening had left him imagining this very situation over and over in his head, but none of it prepared him with the truth of how he would actually feel in the moment. 

Part of Buck felt prepared. He knows how first responders work, and he’s personally had a hand in helping on a home invasion call before. But the other part of him is terrified. Buck’s never been on this side of the call and he knows how quickly things can turn sideways.

The intruder freezes just as Buck is about to reach the bathroom door, and for a second, his mind goes blank and he freezes, too.

Buck is sure he’s been caught, but the person moves again, this time toward the kitchen to where his small blender rests on the counter. Buck lets out a controlled breath of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding and squints at them and what they’re holding.

_Really?_ Buck thinks. _The NutriBullet?_

Buck moves along into the bathroom, but his idea falls to pieces the second he moves to close the door. The door is a creaky one, and if he closes it, there’s no doubt that the intruder will hear him.

Buck curses to himself and hopes that he can remain quiet as he calls.

He moves with a bit more ease until he’s ducked into the shower, and he pulls up his phone. He double-checks that the ringer is off and volume is down before opening up the phone app and typing 9-1-1 into the keypad. 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Buck rushes to turn down the volume on the call too. It sounds like a freight train in the silence of his apartment. 

Buck listens for the footsteps, and sure enough, they’re still moving around downstairs. He tries to calm himself. He can’t tell if it’s the chill of his apartment or fear that makes him feel like his insides have run cold. 

“Hello?” The operator repeats.

“Hi,” he whispers. “I— I think someone’s broken into my apartment.”

“What makes you think that, sir?” The operator asks. Buck rolls his eyes at himself. He knows they’re looking for reasons why it’s not just someone he knows, and it’s not meant to be patronizing— doesn’t even sound like it— but he feels stupid for saying he _thinks_ because he _knows_.

“Someone is definitely in my apartment,” Buck whispers. “I saw them. They’re piling up some of my stuff on the table.”

“Okay, sir, and what’s your name and address?”

Buck rattles it off as he listens for any more sound in this apartment.

“Alright, Evan. Police are on their way, are you in a safe location?”

“No.” Buck nearly laughs. “Small apartment. I’m in the upstairs bathroom, but I couldn’t even close the door ‘cause it’d be too loud.”

“Okay. You just stay there, Evan. You said Buckley, correct?”

“Yes, why?” 

The operator curses. “Maddie’s brother?” they ask, a certain level of professionalism slipping with the tone of their voice. 

_Jeez, does everyone know Maddie at the call center?_

“Yeah,” he whispers back.

“Okay, Evan, we want to keep your chances of being heard to a minimum, so from now on, use the keypad to respond. Press any button once to act as yes, and press any button twice for no. Do you understand?”

Buck presses a shaky finger to the keypad, hitting one of the buttons once.

“Alright, that’s good. Do you know if this intruder is armed?”

He presses it twice to indicate a _no._

“Do you have anything on your person to defend yourself?”

_No._ He presses the keypad twice.

“Can you find anything to defend yourself?”

_No._ Buck presses the buttons again and makes a mental note to get something for the future. He’s almost certain there’s not a decent tool in his apartment that he could use as a weapon— except maybe the hammer or screwdriver in his toolbox, but that was under the sink in the downstairs bathroom.

“Your sister is with me now. Do you want me to put her on the line?”

_God, yes._

He presses a number once again.

“Buck?” Maddie’s voice fills the line and some of the tension in Buck’s shoulders ebbs away. “Hey, Buck, I’m here.”

It’s not really a yes or no question, so Buck doesn’t respond, but he holds the phone a little tighter.

“Okay, we have police en route to you. They’re a few minutes out,” she says. Then a few seconds later she speaks up again. “Oh, it looks like Athena is responding.”

“Sergeant Grant recognized the address,” the operator says, and Buck didn’t realize they were still there. “She’s a bit further than the initial responders, but she’s responding nonetheless.” Buck nods to himself.

There’s a moment of silence on both ends of the call, and that’s all it takes for Buck to realize something is wrong.

The rain has slowed and isn’t as loud, so if anything, he should be able to hear the intruder more clearly, but instead, there’s nothing. He knows he would have heard the door open, though, so it means that the person is unmoving— listening, most likely. It puts Buck on edge.

There’s an unmistakable smack of a shoe on wood, and Buck’s heart freezes. 

He hears it again, and then it turns into a steady stepping pace. They’re coming up the stairs. Even if the whole apartment echoes in a way that makes it hard to pinpoint the origin of the sound, there’s no mistaking this because the only wood in his apartment is his stairs.

Without a thought, he presses down on a button on his phone and he holds it.

“Something’s wrong,” Maddie says immediately, and he confirms it by releasing the button and pressing it once more. It’s a clear _yes_.

Maddie curses and says something to someone that he can’t quite make out.

The footsteps stop at the top of the staircase. Every muscle in Buck’s body tenses as he waits for the person to move. He hears Maddie talking, but he can’t focus on her words, not with the threat so close.

He knows it wouldn’t have done any good, but he wishes he could’ve called Eddie. 

Maybe he should have. Buck’s luck was going to run out someday— he just hopes it won’t tonight.

The intruder sighs, the sound punching through the air like a wrecking ball, and walks over to Buck’s bed. The moonlight casts the man’s shadow into the bathroom. He bends over, but Buck can’t tell what he’s doing.

“Dammit, Buckley.”

It takes him a second to realize the words are not from the phone and are in fact from the intruder.

And they know his name.

“Alright, Buckley. Come out of your hiding spot.” The man says it conversationally, and Buck can tell Maddie heard it too because she starts rattling off the information to someone.

Buck gives himself a few seconds, trying to think it over. 

“Buckley!” The man yells this time, interrupting his thoughts. 

There’s a certain clicking sound that Buck recognizes— one he wouldn’t have known before this job— and Buck knows he’s really without a choice.

“He’s armed,” is all he says into the phone before standing from his spot. He shoves his phone into his pocket and steps out, hands raised.

Sure enough, the man has a gun pointed at him, but if he looks closely enough…

Buck squints. Color him surprised.

“Is that you—”

“Don’t!” The man yells, jerking his hand with the gun aggressively. “Don’t you dare fucking say my name, Buckley.” But what the man doesn’t know is that he’s already given a lot away by implying that he knows Buck. 

The man wipes his brow with his free hand. “I suspect you’ve already called 9-1-1— might even be hearing this all right now.”

Buck doesn’t dignify him with a response, not wanting to immediately confirm or deny the statement. The longer he pushes it off, the more likely he can keep the line open.

Fortunately, he doesn’t look like he’s expecting an answer. 

“Fucking hell. What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be home.”

“What?” Buck finds himself asking instead of answering the question. “What made you think that?”

“Your fucking car isn’t in its slot,” the man hisses. 

He can hardly believe the situation, but of course, this man would know because he parks right next to him. _Dale_ is his damn _neighbor_. Their doors aren’t even ten feet apart in the hallway. Buck sees him all the time, especially when he’s coming home from a twenty-four-hour shift because that’s usually when the man leaves for work. Hell, Buck’s met his kids. However informal that meeting was, Dale was suddenly a person in Buck’s eyes.

Somehow that makes it all the scarier— that someone he knew could do this.

“Why wasn’t it in the parking spot?” Dale asks.

“It’s in the shop,” Buck whispers. “I— I got a ride home from my boyfriend.”

Dale makes a face. “Wait, you’re gay?”

“Bi,” Buck corrects. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” Dale shrugs. “I just didn’t know— wait, no! No, that is not the point!” He yells, once again shaking the gun. “Fuck! Downstairs! Now!” 

Buck pushes himself to move, backing up as slowly as possible. It’s not until he’s standing near the staircase— all of two seconds later— that he realizes he’s going to have to put his back to the man.

“Buckley,” the man warns. 

Buck opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words to say. Buck may know the guy, but he sure as hell has no idea who he is. He had thought he was a decent guy, but here he was, having been gathering up his stuff to take and now aiming a gun at him.

“I swear to God, don’t make me pull this trigger.”

Buck forces himself to move, and the second his back is to him, Dale presses the barrel of the gun into the space between his shoulder blades.

“Stop in front of the table,” Dale instructs.

When Buck’s bare foot touches the tile, the chill runs up his spine. The room feels ten degrees cooler down here and he knows it’s not just because of the weather outside. 

He stops in front of the table as he was told and looks around the pile.

“What were you planning on doing?” Buck can’t help but ask. “Were you actually going to pawn this stuff off?”

“ _No_ ,” Dale hisses. “Well, I just— You couldn’t possibly understand, kid.” 

Even if that holds any semblance of truth, Buck wishes he would explain anyway. He wants to know why his neighbor is in his apartment stealing stuff. 

Still standing behind him, Dale speaks up again.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he directs. “Where is your phone?”

“My pocket,” Buck whispers as he follows the orders. There’s no use in trying to lie because it could only do him harm.

He hears Dale mutter something that he can’t quite make out before he feels a hand on his ass, patting it in search of the phone. He tenses as the hand travels to his side pocket.

Dale reaches in without any care, pulling his phone out of his pocket to look at the screen. It leaves his pajama pants askew, one side raised higher than the other, and he tries not to give any indication of his discomfort. 

“I’m not trying to cop a feel,” the man mutters, annoyed. 

Logically, Buck knows that he wasn’t, but being touched in any way while he’s so vulnerable makes an ill feeling well up in his chest and heat rise to his cheeks.

“That’s a long phone call,” Dale hums, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Buck doesn’t dignify him with a response as the man stares at the seconds ticking on. He doesn’t hear Maddie or the 911 operator, but he has no doubt that there’s stuff happening on the other end. 

Dale sets the phone down and starts rummaging through his drawers. 

“Don’t move!” he orders. 

“You after some silverware, too?” Buck can’t help but quip.

“Not quite,” he answers. Buck hears some loose pens and a pair of scissors clatter on the countertop before Dale speaks again. “I’m just looking for— Ah! There we go.” 

Buck tries not to be obvious as he tracks the man’s movement. He loses him as he wanders behind him again. 

He itches to fight back, really just do _anything_ other than stand here, but Buck doesn’t like his odds against a gun. He also knows that he can identify Dale, so there’s no way that the man can get away with this while Buck’s out there— _alive_ , his brain supplies— so what does he have to lose in trying something?

He supposes he could try to negotiate with him. Buck wouldn’t actually let him get away with it, but if he can lie to at least get out of here alive he’ll call it a win.

He contemplates the idea in his head for a second too long because Dale is suddenly moving into action again. 

He slams a roll of duct tape down on the table in front of Buck. 

“Sorry, dude.”

Dale raises his gun and brings it down on Buck’s skull faster than he’s prepared to block. 

The hit dazes him, and he falls to a single knee as he clutches at the corner of his head. He feels blood underneath his fingertips, and he can’t help but groan and clutch at the table for support. 

“What the hell?” Buck slurs out, trying to right himself. 

Dale winces. “They make it look so much easier in the movies,” he says. 

“What?” Buck asks, fully confused now. 

“This.” 

Dale raises his hand again, and then everything goes black. 

Everything is hazy. He hears words that he knows he should understand, but he can’t actually figure out what’s being said. Opening his eyes is no better because everything is sideways. 

Correction, Buck is sideways. 

Buck groans and takes stock of himself. 

His mouth has tape around it; there are at least a couple of layers if the pressure on his face is anything to go by. His ankles are wrapped similarly, but the worst is his arms. They’re pulled behind his back, wrists joined together by duct tape, and his right shoulder feels like it’s on fire. He tries to move it to test its range, but it only makes the pain worse and he ends up screaming past the duct tape and into the floor. 

For a split second, he worries about Dale’s reaction, but the man doesn’t seem to notice, too busy being absolutely furious. 

The man is pacing around the room, yelling about _something_. Buck can’t make it out, so he focuses on himself again. 

Without even trying to, Buck wiggles around until he's on his back. His right arm pulls at his shoulder uncomfortably with the additional weight being pressed upon it, but it’s something he doesn’t have the proper time to assess right now. The position will only be temporary as it’s his first step in getting himself up.

It takes a couple of tries with the way his head is pounding, but soon enough he’s able to curl his body upwards, and he finds himself sitting on his ass in the middle of the floor. He’s facing his balcony, and the glow of red and blue lights fill the air outside.

It feels nice knowing that backup is here now, but if Buck can’t speak for himself, he’s not exactly sure how he’s going to get out of here. Buck has a certain amount of confidence in fellow first responders, but he’s not exactly confident in this particular situation. There aren’t many ways this can end. 

Behind him, Dale still paces the floor, but the yelling has stopped. Buck’s phone is held firmly in his grip.

“No getting out of this, you say?”

“No,” Buck hears from the phone. It’s the first time he notices that there’s a voice on the other end. It’s not Maddie or his original dispatcher, but he doesn’t recognize the voice, either. Buck’s surprised he can even hear it. 

Dale huffs out in anger and stomps around until he’s behind Buck. “If anyone so much as knocks on that door, I’m killing the kid,” he says decisively.

The barrel of the gun meets the back of his head this time. Buck tries to roll away from it, but his efforts get him thrown against the side of the island with a grunt and the gun between his eyes. 

The metal is cold against his skin, and he feels all his nerves ignite. The anxiousness that’s swirled in his chest has stretched to the tips of every one of his limbs. 

He can feel the little facial hair he has moving with his every exhale. He tries to put himself somewhere else; he tries to picture Eddie’s face and the warmth of his arms, but his mind keeps narrowing down to the bullet that could be in his brain any moment. 

“No,” Dale finally responds to the man, coldly, answering a question that Buck hadn’t been able to catch. “You get me an unmarked car with a thousand dollars and I don’t kill him.”

“How do we know you haven’t killed him already?” the mystery man demands. “We haven’t heard from him in a moment.”

“He’s here. He’s just otherwise… preoccupied.” Dale glances at him and makes a face. 

“We need to hear from him. That is if you really do want to make a deal.”

Buck can’t help but be confused. The guy sounds like they’re actually thinking of making a deal. 

No, no. They’re buying time for something. Buck has been on the other side of this before, so he knows that much. 

Dale eyes the tape around Buck’s mouth. He squints at it, then presses a button on the phone.

“Go ahead and make some noise, Buckley. Tell the man you’re alive.”

Buck glares at him and then the phone. There’s a faint static noise coming from it, one that he hadn’t heard before. It’s on speaker now, he figures, and the man on the end is waiting for Buck’s response.

Admittedly, it’s a little awkward, but Buck gives a grunt of acknowledgment. It’s not a word and he’s not really sure it’s enough.

The man on the line stays silent for a moment.

“Dale Andrews,” he eventually says, completely disregarding Buck’s noise. 

Dale’s back straightens and he drops the gun from Buck’s face.

“How—”

“You gave yourself away. We just needed to connect the dots,” the man says simply. “Dale, if you put the gun down and leave the room without any more harm to Mr. Buckley, things can end a lot better than if you try to force your way out.”

Dale takes a heavy breath as he looks up to where the flashing colors dance on the ceiling. He shakes his head. 

“Ugh,” he groans. “This was so not how this was supposed to go.” 

Buck's knowledge of Dale’s identity had his life on the line only minutes ago, but the police know who he is now, too. Dale was fucked, and killing Buck wouldn’t change that anymore.

What would Dale do?

“My kids think you’re awesome.”

It takes Buck a second to realize that Dale is talking to him. There are tears streaming down the man’s face now and his hand that holds the gun is trembling.

Buck has to strain his neck to look up at Dale. The man still towers above him. The gun is still pointed in his general direction, but his finger is no longer on the trigger. 

“My boy wants to be a firefighter someday,” he adds on, and Buck really wants him to shut the hell up because he’s not liking the tone in his voice. “I was supposed to do better… be better.”

Dale raises the gun again. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t see another way out.”

There’s nothing Buck can do as Dale pulls the trigger. His scream from behind the tape punches through the air at the same time that his front door slams open. There are three police officers and he can’t see any of their faces, light from the hallway behind them creating nothing but a silhouette. Each of them has their guns raised and they’re equipped with bullet-proof vests. 

They won’t be needing them, though, because Dale just shot _himself_.

And Buck knows that this means he’s going to be okay, and he’ll live to see another day, but he can’t find it in himself to stop screaming. 

There’s a dead man— his neighbor, for all intents and purposes— on top of him, and he can’t move. He can’t speak, and his heart is beating so hard and fast in his ears that he can’t hear anything else.

Someone moves Dale off of him and calloused fingertips touch his arm, but he jerks away before he can even see who they belong to. It doesn’t matter who it is because they’re cold and unfamiliar. 

He hears his first name get called a few times, but he doesn’t respond to that either. It’s impersonal. The only people he wants to see right now call him—

“Buck!”

_Athena_. 

Buck’s movements halt as she pushes past the three officers to get to him. Paramedics are hot on her tail, three rushing to Dale’s body and another moving to his side. 

Athena drops down to her knees on his other side and grabs his face between her hands. 

They’re soft and warm and at last, he exhales. 

“You okay?” she asks, breathless and voice strung out with stress like she might sob any second. Buck’s heard her like this before, but the tone had never been directed at him. 

“Oh, Buckaroo, you really do have the worst luck,” she whispers. “But we got you now. You’re going to be fine.” 

Buck nods and tries to sit up to push further into her space, further into her warmth, but his arms are still behind his back and his ankles are still pressed against each other, making it hard to push away from the island. 

“Hey, hey,” Athena coos softly. “Don’t strain yourself okay? We’re about to get you out of these.”

She turns to one of the officers then. 

“Henderson,” she calls out, voice hardened and her composure a bit more collected. “Come cut this shit off of him.” 

The officer moves without hesitation or question and pulls out a pocket knife, kneeling by Buck’s legs. It takes a bit of tugging, but after a few seconds, his ankles are free of the restraints. Henderson doesn’t even have the chance to take the loose pieces of tape off of his pajama pants before Buck is scrabbling to get his feet under him and turn his wrists to the man. 

His upper body presses further into Athena, and on any other day, Buck might consider that he’s probably about a hundred pounds heavier than the woman and could crush her if he were to put too much weight on her, but he can’t be bothered to care right now because he _wants out now_. 

Apparently, she isn’t bothered either. She takes his weight, arms wrapping around his torso, and despite her own unstable position on her knees, her stance doesn’t waver once. She’s a solid rock as she supports Buck. 

Buck’s not expecting the pain to come with the release of his wrists. He groans heavily as his arms fall forward.

“Jesus, Buck, what the hell happened here?” she asks, hand hovering over his shoulder that definitely looks fucked up.

Even if Buck could answer Athena, he wouldn’t know what to tell her. It must’ve happened sometime when Dale was restraining him. He doesn’t remember hurting it before. 

He reaches up to the duct tape around his mouth and searches for the edge of it. 

“Here,” the paramedic says, moving in front of him and to Athena’s side. “Let me help you.”

Athena guides his own hand away as the paramedic reaches behind his head. They start pulling at the tape and Buck stills so they can get it over with. 

“Your skin might be irritated after this is off, but hopefully it shouldn’t last for more than a day,” they say.

Buck feels a tug on his skin, and his hand shoots up to stop the pull. 

“Considering how long this duct tape has been on your face, and the fact that you have very short facial hair, this shouldn’t hurt much,” the paramedic assures him. “I’m going to peel it off, and you can stop me if it hurts, okay?” 

Buck nods and lowers his hand again. 

True to their word, it doesn’t actually hurt as it comes off, but his skin feels raw against the air once it’s gone. 

With his mouth finally free, he can talk, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he feels at a loss for words. Words can’t describe anything he’s feeling. 

Athena seems to sense this. 

“It’s okay, honey. You don’t need to say anything right now. Let’s just let the paramedics do their job and get you taken care of.”

A dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and a head wound.

Buck figures it could be worse. He could be dead right now. 

He’s tried listening into Athena’s conversation with Maddie about how they found out it was Dale and why they suspect he was stealing Buck’s stuff, but it’s a little too much for his brain to process. 

Buck just sits on the hospital bed with his legs pulled up to his chest and his arm resting uncomfortably in a sling. He knows he’s a large guy at six feet and two inches and packed with muscle, but he’s never felt smaller than he does now. 

“You’re rattling your arm,” a nurse at his side chides.

Buck glances to where he’d been tapping his foot on the mattress.

“If you want, we can give you something to help with any residing anxiety.”

Buck shakes his head. 

He only wants Eddie. 

Bobby shows up first. 

Maddie is asleep on the hospital chair across the room, and Athena is standing outside the room. She’s been making phone calls left and right, and he suspects that they weren’t only to his friends and family. 

Bobby approaches her first, and Buck sees him through the glass window, blinds cracked just enough to see out of the room. 

When Bobby’s eyes catch him, he leaves his wife mid-sentence and makes a beeline for Buck. 

The hug is too soft for his taste, but there’s only so much squeezing that he can take with the sensitivity in his arm.

Bobby must know he doesn’t feel like talking because he just takes Buck’s free hand and sits at his side. 

They wait together. 

Eddie shows up thirteen minutes later. Buck only knows because he’s been watching the clock and counting the seconds.

It’s too early for the night he feels like he had, but it’s too late to be awake and his eyes are drooping out of exhaustion when Eddie walks in. 

He’s got jeans and one of Buck’s old hoodies on, one that Buck knows he had purposefully left behind for the man to borrow. 

“Buck,” Eddie gasps as he enters the room. 

Buck sits up in an instant and is halfway out of the bed before Eddie rushes to his side. Buck slides his legs open and Eddie slots himself into the space. 

Eddie presses kisses to Buck’s face and all around his head and Buck can’t help the smile that grows on his face. Eddie wasn’t aware of the injuries before this moment, but he catalogs them now and is gentle with Buck’s shoulder as he finally embraces him. 

When he pulls away to really look at Buck, there are tears rolling down the younger man’s cheeks. 

“Thank you for coming,” Buck whispers. 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than at your side, Buck.” Eddie wipes away some tears with his thumb. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

Buck nods. “I am now.” He takes a breath, the first one that feels like it doesn’t weigh on his chest. 

“I am now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special Thanks to [soft_satan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_satan/pseuds/soft_satan) for reading this through for me!
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed the read! I really just wanted Buck feeling threatened and then Athena being the first to comfort him. Also fun fact, this one was in the works since December oops!  
>  ~~15 WIPS in my docs and 79 ideas left to be written......... hmmmm~~
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos, as they always encourage me to write more! If you feel I missed some necessary story tags please let me know what it is I should add. If a tag feels inaccurate, please feel free to let me know about that as well.


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